PS 3521 
:.U64 B7 
1 1922 
Copy 1 



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BRIDGES 



By 
CLARE KUMMER 



All Rights Reserved 
Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French 

Price Fifty Cents 



New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 
28-30 West 38th Street 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

Strand, W.C. 2. 



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BRIDGES 



BY 
-Yvih/). CLARE, KUMMER 



All Rights Reserved 
Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 

28-30 West 38th Street 



London 

SAMUEL FRE^XH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 






"BRIDGES" is fully protected by copyright and is sub- 
ject to royalty when produced by professionals or ama- 
teurs. 

Permission to act, read publidy, or to make use of it 
must be obtained from Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th 
Street, New York, and no performance may take place 
until a written permission has been obtained. 

Professional and amateur rates quoted on application. 

Whenever this play is produced the following^ notice 
must appear on all programs, printing and advertising for 
the play : Produced by 'special arrangement with Samuel 
French of New York. 



©CLD 03353 

JAN 1 ^ 



fK-^ 



CHARACTERS 



Penfield Parker, Jr. — 

Of Parker and Son, Bridge Builders. 

Wallie Breen His friend, also in the office. 

Enid Birdsall — 

The girl who wants to have a bridge built. 



Originally produced at the Punch and Judy The- 
atre, New York, February 13, 1921, with the fol- 
lowing cast: 

Penfield Parker, Jr Sidney Blackmer 

Wallie Breen Roland Hogue 

Enid Birdsall Ruth Gillmore 



BRIDGES 



Scene : The inner office of Parker and Son, on the 
eighteenth floor of an office building down town 
in New York City, facing the river. At the 
back a wide window looking out on the sky, 
which is deep blue, but changes to rosy sunset 
light during the scene. There is a door leading 
into the outer office r.u.e. On wall r. a pic- 
ture of a suspension bridge. On wall l. a map 
of the United States. A large table with blue 
prints scattered about R.c. A smaller table 
down L. against the wall; on this table a zualk- 
ing stick and hat belonging to Penfield. 

Time: About five o'clock on a spring afternoon. 

On Rise : Penfield and Wallie discovered. They 

are in the midst of a heated discussion. The 

rest of the office force has gone. The large 
table separates the arguing pair. 

Penfield. (Down l. of table, not looking at 
WallieJ What's the matter with artists? 

Wallie. (Above table) I don't know what's 
the matter with them. They're all right, I suppose. 

5 



6 BRIDGES 

Pen FIELD. I should say they are all right — and 
Tm going to be one. I can pamt, can't I? 

Wallie. (Grudgingly) I suppose so. 

Penfield. I know I can paint. 

Wallie. I know you can build bridges. That's 
your inheritance. 

Penfield. A fine inheritance. Bridges to build! 

Wallie. Well, why not do both ? 

Penfield. (With scorn) Did you say both ? 

Wallie. I did — I said both — why not do both? 

Penfield. Did anyone ever do "both"? Doesn't 
ever3^body know that doing "both" is responsible 
for all the failures in the world ? Don't you have to 
concentrate — to succeed ? 

Wallie. Well — can't you concentrate on both? 

Penfield. How can you do two things at once? 

Wallie. It's perfectly easy — sometimes I do three 
things at once. 

Penfield. I'm not speaking of you — who ever did 
"both" that amounted to anything? 

Wallie. Well — I'm sure there have been people 
— only you get me so excited I can't think of them. 

Penfield. Well, who? Who? 

Wallie. (Brightening) I've thought of one — 
he was just what you are too, Pen — an architect 
— and he broke loose and did something else — Rus- 
kin. John Ruskin. 

Penfield. Nothing to do with the case. Ruskin 
was a writer — pure and simple. 

Wallie. Well, I don't know how pure and sim- 
ple he was — but I know he did two things at once — 
and did 'em darned well. 

Penfield. I don't want to be an architect — I 
don't like anything about it — I don't like blue prints. 
(Taking one up.) I hate the color of 'em. Isn't 
that horrible — that blue is positively profane — I don't 
like measuring things. I don't like to think about 



BRIDGES 7 

arches and rivets. I want to paint — that requires a 
man's life. I'm perfectly willing to give mine. 

Wallie. And incidentally your father's. 

Penfield. You don't think it's going to kill the 
old man, do you, if I leave the office. 

Wall.e. It might. (Picking up long envelope 
and document attached.) If your father knew you'd 
got the commission to build this bridge and thrown 
it down, I think it would come pretty close to fin- 
ishing him. 

Penfield. Well, I won't let him know it. I'll 
just tear it up right now — give it to me. 

Wallie. (Without giving up the envelope) Why, 
Pen, it's tremendous — with all your father's done, he 
never had anything like this. It puts you right at 
the top, why a bridge like this — it'll be in all the 
geographies — it'll change the map of the world. 

Penfield. The map of the world's all right. I 
wish people would let it alone. 

Wallie. And there's something so inspiring about 
it — a beautiful bridge, spanning a river — ^think what 
it might mean in war time — think of seeing an en- 
tire regiment marching across the bridge, in perfect 
step. 

Penfield. The bridge falls down if they do that, 
you know. 

Wallie. Well — marching any old way as long as 
they get across. But what's the use — you're going 
to give it up and I might as well get out before I'm 
fired. (Lays envelope on table.) 

Penfield. Fired? Why, they'll need you more 
than ever. 

Wallie. Who will? I don't believe there'll be 
any Parker and Son — anyway, your father only let 
me in because he thought it would please you. I'll 
never be anything in this business — I only love it, 
that's all. 



8 BRIDGES 

Penfield. All? Why, that's the whole thing. 
That's why I expect to be a good painter, Wallie — 
because I love it. 

Wallie. I know — you can afford to expect 
things — I can't. When you paint your first sunset — 
that lets me out. 

Penfield. I promise that you shall stay in this 
accursed place till you have a long gray beard, my 
dear fellow, if that's what you want. 

Wallie. Thanks, but 

Penfield. My first sunset — it's going to be one 
that I saw at Marblehead last summer — saffron and 
mauve — with the sky turquoise and some puffy 
clouds smudged in with your finger, lined with rose 
and gold. I don't know where the rose and gold 
came from, but there they were 

Wallie. I wouldn't start in on a sunset like that 
if I were you — I'd try a quiet one. 

Penfield. I shall start in on the noisiest sunset 
I can think of. I'll go forth to be- a painter joy- 
ously, Wallie — with bells ringing and — — (A fable 
bell in the outer office rings.) Hasn't eyeryone 
gone? 

(A knock on the door. Enid opens it.) 

Enid. I beg your pardon — is it all right for me 
to come in? 

Wallie. Certainly — come right in. 

Enid. I thought perhaps I ought to wait out 
there until someone asked me who I wanted to see — 
but there was no one to ask me. 

Wallie. I should be out there — but, you see, I'm 
in here, quarrelling with the firm . . . 

Enid. (To Parker j Oh, are you the firm? 

Penfield. Pm the "Son" part of it. 

Enid. (A little troubled) My name is Birdsall — 
Enid Birdsall. 



BRIDGES 9 

Penfield. Well — can we do anything about it? 

Wallie. Any relation to Rufus Birdsall? 

Penfield. Excuse me. (Introducing Walliej 
This is Mr. Breen. 

Enid. How do you do. Yes, he was my great 
uncle. 

Wallie. How splendid? 

Enid. (Hesitating a little) You mean — because 
he's left me all his money? 

Wallie. No, I didn't. That's splendid, too, but 
I meant we're sort of related — ^^because he was in 
my great grandfather's class at college. 

Enid. Really? I didn't know they had colleges 
then. 

Wallie. Oh, yes — they had colleges and campuses 
and everything. Yes, indeed — why, yes. 

Penfield. (Wishing to check the garrulous 
Wallie. J Pardon me for interrupting, but what 
did you want to see me about? 

Enid. Well, it may be that I shouldn't have come 
at all — I mean I'm not sure that this is the sort of 
place where one asks about such things 

Wallie. Why of course it is — you can ask about 
anything here. 

Penfield. Just a moment, Wallie — what things, 
Miss — er 

Enid. Enid — Enid Birdsall. Was it all right for 
me to ring the bell out there ? I saw it on the table 
and I — perhaps I shouldn't have rung it. 

Penfield. Certainly, it was splendid — but that's 
not what you wanted to ask me about, is it? 

Enid. No. Why — you see, I want to have a lot 
of things done, by reliable people, and Uncle Rufus 
talked so much about you — about — Parker — your fa- 
ther's name in Parker, isn't it? 

Penfield. Yes — so is mine — as it happens. 

Enid. Yes — Uncle Rufus said that everything 



10 BRIDGES 

that Mr. Parker had anything to do with was so 
splendid 

Penfield. I hope he included me. 

Enid. Your father built a suspension bridge 
when Uncle Rufus was in Congress — and that 
seemed to — endear your father to Uncle Rufus. 

Penfield. It probably endeared your Uncle 
Rufus to my father. 

Enid. I don't know why a suspension bridge 
should endear people to each other particularly 

Wallie. They might have gone through a lot of 
suspense together. 

Penfield. But you were saying 

Enid. Oh, yes — well — you see, I want to make 
five hundred acres up on the Hudson perfectly beau- 
tiful as a sort of memorial to uncle — and then I want 
to make about five acres beautiful, just a little way, 
for me to live on — myself. And one thing I espe- 
cially want — is it all right for me to go on? 

Wallie. Go right on, it's fine. 

Penfield. (Offering chair) Sit here, won*t you? 

Enid. (Taking it) Thank you. You see, there's 
a darling little island just a little way out in the 
river — with trees and rocks and everything that cats 
and birds and little animals love. I want to have 
it fixed up for my pets when they get old. You 
know pets don't like to be talked about — they don't 
like to have people say, "Poor old Fido, he must be 
nineteen, he really ought to be chloroformed" any 
more than we do. And they know, when people 
say those things — well, I want to separate them from 
people. So I thought of the island and having a 
darling little rustic bridge 

Penfield. Oh, a bridge. 

Wallie. I should say a landscape gardener is 
what you want. 



BRIDGES II 

Penfield. (Giving him a severe look) I build 
bridges, don't I? 

Enid. Then we can really talk about it? 

Penfield. Certainly. I'll get a piece of paper 
and you can describe the place to me. (Goes to 
table for pad and pencil.) 

Wallie. It seems queer to do all that for animals. 

Enid. Does it? But animals are so wonderful. 

Wallie. I know, but 

Enid. Animals — are just as nice as they know 
how to be — but we're not — are we ? I'm so sorry for 
them, that they have to be with us. 

Penfield. (Returning) Now — what's the shape 
of the island? (He sits on l. end of table.) 

Enid. It's sort of long at one end and round on 
the other and hilly in the middle. 

Penfield. (Sketching rapidly as she speaks) 
Anything like that? (Showing her what he is do- 
ing.) 

Enid. (Delighted) Precisely like that. 

Penfield. You want some sort of a building for 
the old pets to live in, don't you? 

Enid. Of course — and I want a lovely fountain — 
like an Italian fountain — with part of it sunk in the 
ground for them to drink out of. My idea is that 
they will become sort of wild — in a nice way — and 
that they'll prefer drinking under the trees, to hav- 
ing water-bowls in their house. 

Penfield. (Sketching) I see. 

Wallie. Jungle stuff — all meet at the fountain 
at five. 

Enid. Yes — the way they do in Kipling's books. 

Penfield. Are these animals all friendly? 

Enid. Oh, yes. The cats and the dogs and the 
birds — there's no trouble about that. 

Penfield. But do you think they'll remain 
friendly? Living in this way? 



12 BRIDGES 

Enid. Oh, yes — because they'll all sort of get 
wild together, you see. 

Penfield. (Showing sketch) How's that? 

Enid. (Delighted) Oh, how did you do it all in 
a minute — it's perfect. And that railing — it's just 
the kind of a one Gilbert loves to lie on — you're 
wonderful, Mr. Parker! 

Penfield. (Suspicious) Gilbert? 

Enid. He's the oldest cat. 

Wallie. (Strolling down R.) Are you going to 
have any pictures in the animal house? Because I 

know a very fine one of a sunset It's not finished 

yet, but I think almost any cat that cared for a sun- 
set would like it. 

Enid. Pictures ! Why, I don't want pictures in 
my own house . . . 

Penfield. (Looking up) See if there isn't a book 
on Italian fountains in the library out there in the 
office, Wallie — will you? 

Wallie. Certainly — excuse me just a moment. 
(Exit Wallie. J 

Penfield. (Seriously, laying down pad) Tell 
me — why don't you like pictures? 

Enid. Why, I just — don't like to have them 
around, do you? I mean if the wall is nice. 

Penfield. But why? 

Enid. They prevent me from seeing my own 
pictures, I guess. When life is wonderful — when 
real things are wonderful that we see ourselves — ^pic- 
tures are disturbing, don't you think so? 

Penfield. (Surprised) Oh — disturbing ! 

Enid. Yes. That was the only trouble with Uncle 
Rufus. He collected pictures — they were every- 
where. Strange people's grandfathers and grand- 
mothers and artist's pictures of themselves and 
Madonnas and ballet-dancers and girls with oranges — 
and fish and vegetables — you couldn't get away from 



BRIDGES 13 

them. One evening I remember I sat by the fire in 
the library. It had been such a wonderful day — and 
I was living it all over again. I looked up and my 
eyes rested on the picture of a large pumpkin. A 
perfect pumpkin — ^you could have taken it and cut 
it up and made it into a pie — only the trouble was 
no one had. Think of my beautiful reverie — inter- 
rupted by a pumpkin — uncle paid thousands of dol- 
lars for it. 

Penfield. (Disturbed) But don't you like pictures 
of the sea — and sunsets? 

Enid. Why, I've lived by the sea, through nearly 
all my summers. And my eyes when they're closed 
are full of sunsets. 

Penfield. Strange, isn't it — when you came in — 
I was just talking of becoming an artist. 

Enid. Oh, don't. That is — don't if you can 
help it. 

Penfield. Because you don't like pictures? 

Enid. Oh, no, not that — but people who paint and 

write and do those things Well, they're out of 

it — aren't they? 

Penfield. Out of it? 

Enid. Yes — I mean — they miss everything. While 
they're painting and writing — we're living. When 
they get through — if they ever do — it's too late. Or 
they're too tired. They must be — you can't do both 
— it*s impossible. 

Penfield. (Looking at her curiously) But you 
wouldn't have people stop — writing altogether, 
would you? 

Enid. No — they have to, of course. And it isn't 
so annoying anyway — books don't stare at you like 
pictures. 

Penfield. What a horrible idea — stare at you. 

Enid. Yes — they do, don't they? Of course there 
are times when they might come in — if you had just 



14 



BRIDGES 



killed somebody and looked up and saw "J^^ith and 
the Dagger," it would be all right — or if you'd had 
fish for dinner and were thinking of it — and looked 
up and saw a large plate of mackerel and what- 
ever goes with it, by Who was the wonderful 

fish man? 

Penfield. Don't. I beg of you. 

Enid. No — because I didn't come to talk about 
pictures — we're not getting on at all. 

Penfield. (Looking at her with interest) Oh, I 
don't know 

Enid. About the plans, I mean. 

Penfield. Oh — well you know it seems to me 
that before we can really get anywhere, I must see 

the place — actually see it. This is all (Refers 

to sketch) just what we've been talking about — 
"pictures." It doesn't mean anything — ^how do I 
know there is an island. I want to see it. 

Enid. I hoped you would. 

Penfield. When do you want to start the work 
on the bridge — and so on ? 

Enid. I thought in the fall. I'm going to be 
away — traveling this summer. 

Penfield. Oh, that's too bad. 

Enid. Is it? Why? 

Penfield. Well, only that the best time to build 

bridges is in the spring They — er — wc^ll, they 

seem to thrive better, somehow. 

Enid. Do they ? Well, I don't have to go away — 
but could you do it this spring? You must be so 
busy — I don't like to ask you to build my bridge 
before you do anything else — ^because you must have 
such important ones to do. 

Penfield. I haven't anything important — just one 
small commission that can wait. (Picking up con- 
tract and laying it down again.) 



BRIDGES 15 

Enid. Well, when could you come? Would to- 
morrow morning be too soon? 

Penfield. Why, no — I can't imagine anything 
sooner — better, I mean. 

Enid. (Taking card out of her bag) Here's a 
time-table — and if you're not afraid, I'll meet you 
at the station. 

Penfield. I'm afraid — but do it. 

Enid. I say that because I'm just learning to 
drive my car. 

Penfield. (Anxious) Don't without someone 
with you — promise me you won't — and I'll tell you — 
if you could only stay over until to-morrow, I could 
— that is, if you'd let me — I could drive you up in 
my car 

Enid. Oh, how splendid — ^but would it be all 
right? I mean I feel as if I ought to ask someone — 
and I haven't anyone to ask but you — do you really 
think it would be all right? 

Penfield. I know it would. It would be mag- 
nificent. 

Enid. You see, I'm all alone in the world — and 
when I say alone I really mean it. I've no one to 
be responsible to, but Margaret Hindley, my old 
nurse. She lives with me and I consult her about 
everything. It's wonderful because she's such re- 
spectable ideas and yet she always agrees with me, 
because she loves me so, you see. 

Penfield. I see. 

Enid. She's such a dear — and she's a little deaf, 
too. . Would you mind if she went up with us, in 
the car? 

Penfield. Mind? I should say not — from your 
description she must be altogether delightful. (They 
go to window, where the glow of the sunset is deep- 
ening.) 



i6 BRIDGES 

Enid. (Seeing the sky out the window) Oh, what 
a beautiful sky. What a wonderful sunset! 

Penfield. Isn't it — now, honestly, wouldn't you 
like to have a picture of it? 

Enid. But I have it! 

(Enter Wallie. They do not notice him.) 

Enid. (Looking out of window) Oh, look — it's 
changing — it's getting pinker! 

Penfield. (tVatching her) Beautiful! 

('Wallie exits, rings bell in outer office and enters 
again.) 

Wallie. Well — I found a book on Italian foun- 
tains of the time of Benvenuto Cellini. 

Penfield. Couldn't 3^ou find something a little 
earlier — or a little later? 

Wallie. I might. 

Enid. (To PenfieldJ But I must go — really I 
must. I think it's just wonderful of you to do 
this for me. But I do think it's important to have 
bridges built right, don't you? Even if they're only 
little ones. 

Penfield. Oh, most important. 

Enid. Big bridges are splendid with trains rush- 
ing over them and ships sailing under them — but lit- 
tle rustic bridges are — sweeter, don't you think so, 
Mr. Breen? 

Wallie. Sweeter — oh, yes, yes — undoubtedly — 
and then yours — with all the animals going over to 

the Old Ladies Home Why, that's going to be 

a very affecting spectacle. 

Enid. (To PenfieldJ Good-bye — until to-mor- 
row. You will hear from me the very first thing 
in the morning — we must let Margaret decide it, 
of course — but I'm sure she'll say yes. 



BRIDGES 17 

Penfield. When shall I call for you? 

Enid. About seven o'clock? 

Penfield. And where? 

Enid. At the St. Regis. 

Penfield. All right — I'll be there. 

Wallie. (To Penfield, aside) You'll be in bed. 

Penfield. In case I should be detained, you 
might call up my house. (Gives her card.) 

Enid. Thank you — good-bye. I shouldn't have 
said all those things about pictures. 

Penfield. I'm so glad you did. 

Enid. Good-bye. 

EXIT Enid. 

Wallie. (Returning to the original argument) 
Well — are you going to build the bridge? 

Penfield. (Ecstatically) Wallie, I'm going to 
build such a bridge as was never seen before — I'm go- 
ing to have roses on the bank where the bridge takes 
off — those climbing, spreading, rambling roses. They 
will reach out to the bridge and they'll climb all 
the way across it — it will be actually a bridge of 
roses 

Wallie. Then what will you do ? 

Penfield. I'll go and stand on it. 

WARNING. 

Wallie. That's not what the specifications call 
for — I should think it would look funny all covered 
with those things. 

Penfield. What bridge are you talking about? 

Wallie. The bridge for the Government. 

Penfield. Oh — I'm not going to touch that until 
fall 

Wallie. (Delighted) But you will do it then? 
Hurrah ! 

Penfield. (Thoughtfully) After all, Wallie, 
there is something wonderful about bridges. (The 
hell rings — the door opens — Enid enters.) 



i8 BRIDGES 

Enid. (Hesitatingly) Why, the elevators have 
stopped running — and I want to ask — is it many 
flights down? 

Penfield. Only eighteen. (He crosses to table 
L., takes his hat and stick, returns to Enid, holds 
the door open for her.) Allow me ! (Exit Enid, 
followed by Penfield. Wallie looks after them 
with a benign smile.) 



CURTAIN 



THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY. 

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IN WALKED JIMMY. 



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make "In Walked Jimmy" one cf the most delightful of plays. 
Jimmy is full of the religion of life, the religion of happiness and 
the religion of helpfulness, and he so permeates the atmosphere with 
his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of optimism, good 
cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the play. There is nrt a dull 
moment in any of the four acts. We strongly recommend it. 

Price, 60 Cents. 



MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. 

An optimistic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmann, author 
of the "Martha" stories. S rnales, 5 females. Three interior scenes. 
Costumes modern. Plays 2^1 hours. 

It is altogether a gentle thir.g, this play. It is full of quaint hu- 
mor, old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see 
the play v/ill recall and chuckle over to-morrow and the next day. 

Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very successful book for 
stage service, and in doing this has selected from her novel the mo'< 
telling incidents, infectious comedy and homely sentiment for the 
play, and the result is thoroughly delightful. Price, o'O Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 



SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City 

New and Explicit Descriptive Catjiogue IVlaiied Free on Request 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 926 145 1 



